trusted, the coming of such a number to him so suddenly, without any warning or knowledge whether they came for good or harm. Then, when the duke had showed this to the mayor and other, that they might thereby see how little the protector looked for this matter, they sent again by the messenger such loving message, and therewith so humbly besought him to vouchsafe that they might resort to his presence to purpose their intent, of which they would to none other person any part disclose. At the last he came out of his chamber, and yet not down to them, but in a gallery over them, with a bishop on every hand of him, where they beneath might see him and speak to him, as though he would not yet come near them till he wist what they meant. And thereupon the Duke of Buckingham first made humble petition to him, on the behalf of them all, that his grace would pardon them, and license them to purpose unto his grace the intent of their coming without his displeasure, without which pardon obtained they durst not be so bold to move him of that matter; in which, albeit they meant as much honour to his grace as wealth to all the realm beside, yet were they not sure how his grace would take it, whom they would in no wise offend. Then the protector, as he was very gentle of himself, and also longed sore apparently to know what they meant, gave him leave to purpose what him liked, verily trusting for the good mind that he bare them all, none of them anything would intend to himward, wherewith he thought to be grieved. When the duke had this leave and pardon to speak, then waxed he bold to show him their intent and purpose, with all the causes moving them thereto, as ye before have heard; and finally, to beseech his grace that it would like him, of his accustomed goodness and zeal unto the realm, now with his eye of pity to behold the long continued distress and decay of the same, and to set his gracious hand to the redress and amendment thereof, by taking upon him the crown and governance of the realm according to his right and title lawfully descended unto him, and to the laud of God, profit and surety of the land, and unto his grace so much the more honour and less pain, in that that never prince reigned upon any people that were so glad to live under his obeisance as the people of this realm under his.

"When the protector had heard the proposition he looked very strangely thereat, and made answer, that albeit he knew partly the things by them alleged to be true, yet such entire love he bare to King Edward and his children, and so much more regarded his honour in other realms about than the crown of any one, of which he was never desirous, so that he could not find in his heart in this point to induce to their desire, for in all other nations where the truth were not well known it should peradventure be thought that it were his own ambitious mind and device to depose the prince and to take himself the crown, with which infamy he would in no wise have his honour stained for any crown, in which he had ever perchance perceived much more labour and pain than pleasure to him that so

would use it, as he that would not and were not worthy to have it. Notwithstanding, he not only pardoned them of the motion that they made him, but also thanked them for the love and hearty favour they bare him, praying them for his sake to bear the same to the prince under whom he was and would be content to live, and with his labour and counsel, as far as it should like the king to use it, he would do his uttermost devoir to set the realm in good estate, which was already in the little time of his protectorship (lauded be God!) well begun, in that the malice of such as were before the occasion of the contrary, and of new intended to be, were now, partly by good policy, partly more by God his special providence than man's provision, repressed and put under.

"Upon this answer given, the Duke of Buckingham by the protector his licence a little rounded, as well with other noble men about him as with the mayor and recorder of London. And after that (upon like pardon desired and obtained) he showed aloud unto the protector, for a final conclusion, that the realm was appointed that King Edward his line should no longer reign upon them, both that, they had so far gone that it was now no surety to retreat, as for that they thought it for the weal universal to take that way, although they had not yet begun it. Wherefore, if it would like his grace to take the crown upon him, they would humbly beseech him thereunto, and if he would give them a resolute auswer to the contrary, (which they would be loth to hear,) then must they seek, and should not fail to find, some other nobleman that would. These words much moved the protector, which, as every man of small intelligence may wit, would never have inclined thereto; but when he saw there was none other way but that he must take it, or else he and his both to go from it, he said to the lords and commons, Sith it is we perceive well that all the realm is so set (whereof we be very sorry), that they will not suffer in any wise King Edward his line to govern them, whom no man earthly can govern against their wills: and we also perceive that no man is there to whom the crown can by so just title appertain as to ourself, as very right heir lawfully begotten of the body of our most dread and dear father Richard late Duke of York, to which title is now joined your election, the nobles and commons of the realm, which we of all titles possible take for most effectual, we he content and agree favourably to incline to your petition and request, and according to the same here we take upon us the royal estate of pre-eminence and kingdom of the two noble realms England and France; the one, from this day forward by us and our heirs to rule, govern, and defend; the other, by God his grace and your good help, to get again, subdue, and establish for ever in due obedience unto this realm of England, the advancement whereof we never ask of God longer to live than we intend to procure and set forth. With this there was a great cry and shout, crying King Richard! and so the lords went up to the king, and so he was after that day called."

Hath he set bounds between their love and me?

I am their mother, who shall bar me from them? Duch. I am their father's mother, I will see them.

Anne. Their aunt I am in law, in love their mother:

Then bring me to their sights; I'll bear thy blame,

And take thy office from thee, on my peril. Brak. No, madam, no, I may not leave it so; I am bound by oath, and therefore pardon me. [Exit BRAKENBURY.

Enter STANLEY.

Were red-hot steel, to sear me to the brain! 1
Anointed let me be with deadly venom;

And die, ere men can say--God save the queen! Q. Eliz. Go, go, poor soul, I envy not thy glory,

To feed my humour: wish thyself no harm. Anne. No! why?-When he that is my husband now

Came to me, as I follow'd Henry's corse; When scarce the blood was well wash'd from his hands,

Which issued from my other angel husband, And that dear saint which then I weeping follow'd;

hence,

And I'll salute your grace of York as mother,
And reverend looker-on of two fair queens.
Come, madam, you must straight to Westminster,
[To the DUCHESs of Gloster.
There to be crowned Richard's royal queen.
Q. Eliz. Ah, cut my lace asunder!
That my pent heart may have some scope to
beat,

Or else I swoon with this dead-killing news.

Anne. Despiteful tidings! O unpleasing news! Dor. Be of good cheer: Mother, how fares your grace?

Q. Eliz. O Dorset, speak not to me, get thee
gone,

Death and destruction dog thee at thy heels;
Thy mother's name is ominous to children:
If thou wilt outstrip death, go cross the seas,
And live with Richmond, from the reach of hell.
Go, hie thee, hie thee, from this slaughter-house,
Lest thou increase the number of the dead;
And make me die the thrall of Margaret's

curse,

Nor mother, wife, nor England's counted queen. Stan. Full of wise care is this your counsel,

madam :

Take all the swift advantage of the hours;
You shall have letters from me to my son
In your behalf, to meet you on the way:
Be not ta en tardy by unwise delay.

Duch. O ill-dispersing wind of misery!
O my accursed womb, the bed of death;
A cockatrice hast thou hatch'd to the world,
Whose unavoided eye is murtherous!

Stan. Come, madam, come; I in all haste was sent.

Anne. And I with all unwillingness will go. O, would to God that the inclusive verge Of golden metal that must round my brow

curs'd,

For making me, so young, so old a widow!
And when thou wedd'st let sorrow haunt thy bed;
And be thy wife (if any be so mad)
More miserable by the life of thee,
Than thou hast made me by my dear lord's
death!'

Lo, ere I can repeat this curse again,
Within so small a time, my woman's heart
Grossly grew captive to his honey words,
And prov'd the subject of mine own soul's curse;
Which hitherto hath held mine eyes from rest:
For never yet one hour in his bed
Did I enjoy the golden dew of sleep,
But with his timorous dreams was still awak'd.
Besides, he hates me for my father Warwick;
And will, no doubt, shortly be rid of me.

Q. Eliz. Poor heart, adieu; I pity thy complaining.

Anne. No more than with my soul I mourn

a Dear, in the folio; the quartos, dead.

b So the folio; the quartos, even in so short a space. We print this line as in the folio. In the quartos it stands,

"Which ever since hath kept my eyes from sleep." The plain course for the modern editors to have pursued would have been to take the line as it stands in one or the other edition, according to their belief in its authenticity. But in this, as in many other instances, they make up a text from each copy

"Which ever since hath held mine eyes from rest.”’

me!

Eighty odd years of sorrow have I seen,

And each hour's joy wrack'd with a week of

teen."

Q. Eliz. Stay; yet look back, with me, unto the Tower.

Pity, you ancient stones, those tender babes,
Whom envy hath immur'd within your walls!
Rough cradle for such little pretty ones!
Rude ragged nurse! old sullen play-fellow
For tender princes, use my babies well!
So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II-A Room of State in the Palace.

Flourish of trumpets. RICHARD, as King, upon his throne; BUCKINGHAM, CATESBY, a Page, and others.

K. Rich. Stand all apart. Cousin of Buckingham,

Buck. My gracious sovereign.

K. Rich. Give me thy hand. Thus high, by
thy advice,

And thy assistance, is king Richard seated :
But shall we wear these glories for a day?
Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
Buck. Still live they, and for ever let them
last!

K. Rich. Ah, Buckingham, now do I play
the touch,c

To try if thou be current gold, indeed : Young Edward lives :-Think now what I would speak.

Buck. Say on, my loving lord.

K. Rich. Why, Buckingham, I say I would be king.

Buck. Why, so you are, my thrice-renowned lord.

K. Rich. Ha! am I king? "T is so: but Edward lives.

Buck. True, noble prince.

This speech is not in the quartos. It bears the mark of Shakspere's later years, in its bold imagery.

"Rude ragged nurse, old sullen play-fellow," possesses all the highest attribute of poetry,-that of suggesting a long train of thought by some short and powerful allusion, far more effective than the most skilful elaboration. And yet Johnson with the most ludicrous solemnity says, "To call the Tower nurse and play-fellow is very harsh: perhaps part of this speech is addressed to the Tower, and part to the Lieutenant,"

• Touch-touchstone.

Page. My lord.

K. Rich. Know'st thou not any whom corrupting gold

Would tempt unto a close exploit of death?
Page. I know a discontented gentleman,
Whose humble means match not his haughty
spirit: d

Gold were as good as twenty orators,
And will, no doubt, tempt him to anything.
K. Rich. What is his name?
Page.

His name, my lord, is Tyrrel. K. Rich. I partly know the man: Go, call him hither, boy. [Exit Page.

The deep-revolving witty Buckingham
No more shall be the neighbour to my counsels:
Hath he so long held out with me untir'd,
And stops he now for breath?-well, be it so.-
Enter STANLEY.

How now, lord Stanley? what's the news?
Stan. Know, my loving lord,

The marquis Dorset, as I hear, is fled
To Richmond, in the parts where he abides.
K. Rich. Come hither, Catesby: rumour it

Foes to my rest, and my sweet sleep's disturbers, Are they that I would have thee deal upon : Tyrrel, I mean those bastards in the Tower. Tyr. Let me have open means to come to them,

And soon I'll rid you from the fear of them. K. Rich. Thou sing'st sweet music. Hark, come hither, Tyrrel:

Go, by this token :-Rise, and lend thine ear:
[Whispers.

There is no more but so :-Say, it is done,
And I will love thee, and prefer thee for it.
Tyr. I will despatch it straight.

Re-enter BUCKINGHAM.

[Exit.

K. Rich. Because that, like a Jack, thou keep'st the stroke

Betwixt thy begging and my meditation.
I am not in the giving vein to-day.

Buck. Why, then resolve me whether you will, or no.b]

K. Rich. Thou troublest me; I am not in the vein.

[Exeunt KING RICHARD and Train. Buck. And is it thus? repays he my deep

service

With such contempt? made I him king for this?
O, let me think on Hastings; and be gone
To Brecknock, while my fearful head is on.

[Exit.

The "Jack of the Clock-house" was an automaton, which struck the hour upon a bell.

b This most characteristic passage, which we print in brackets, is not found in the folio. We have only one other instance of any omission in that copy as compared with the quartos; while the additional passages not found in the quartos are numerous.